


Lovely Lodging

by heeroluva



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Ghost Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity, Marathon Sex, Possession, Pseudo-Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-10-25 17:22:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20727971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heeroluva/pseuds/heeroluva
Summary: Ciri and Geralt take shelter in the wrong house.





	Lovely Lodging

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thedevilchicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/gifts).

Ciri awakes with a groan, head pounding as she pushes herself upright, rubbing at her gritty eyes and wondering why she’s sleeping on the floor. Thinking back, the last thing she remembers was taking shelter from the deluge that had unexpectedly sprung up on them in a large but clearly abandoned sprawling estate far away from civilization with Geralt. They’d started a fire and then stripped down to their small clothes, setting the rest of their gear beside the fire to let it dry before beginning a game of Gwent, and after that… after that Ciri remembers nothing, not even finishing the game.

Hearing a sound, Ciri looks to her left, squinting in the brightness of the fire blazing on the hearth, the sconces lining the walls all alight as well, something she is certain that they hadn’t done, before her mind comes to a screeching halt as she tries to comprehend what she’s seeing. Geralt had put on his armor again at some point, but it’s now been reduced to little more than scraps hanging from his wrists and legs, the rest of him completely bare except his boots. She flushes then as her eyes land on his hard cock, knowing she shouldn’t be seeing him like this, that she should do something, but she can’t look away and doesn’t move.

Around Geralt’s neck, his wolf medallion dances wildly in response to whatever threat is nearby. His body is tilted precariously, nearly parallel to the ground, one still booted foot rising high into the air, while the toe of his other foot just barely touches the floor like some sort of perverse ballerina. Geralt’s left arm is pulled above his head, the right held bent behind his back, and Ciri watches the play of his muscles, the way they strain.

Ciri can see that something unseen compresses his wrist and ankle as though something is wrapped around them, but there is absolutely _nothing_ visible holding him there. His nipples are swollen and red and stretch out from his body as though being tugged by invisible fingers. His mouth is wide open, his lips clearly straining, his tongue pressed against the bottom of his mouth by nothing, yet only obscene wet sounds escape him.

Most startling though is the way that Geralt’s twisted so Ciri can see the way that his asshole gapes wide, the pink of his insides clearly visible. Ciri’s eyes focus behind him to the play of shadows on the wall. His silhouette is clearly visible, but all around it are strange wispy shapes that seem to be holding him in place, and before her eyes they shift into some semblance of faces and give her ghastly grins.

Jerking back with a gasp, Ciri sprawls on her ass before she shivers as something cold passes through her. She gasps again as she suddenly grows hot, and when a sudden gush of fluid soaks her underwear, for one horrified moment she’s certain she’s pissed herself. But no, it’s not urine; her cunt is wet, more than wet, literally dripping with need as she aches in a way that she never has before.

Ciri moans as she clenches her thighs together, as she reaches up and cups her breast, squeezing her peaked nipple. Her half-lidded eyes slide over Geralt, and the heat increases as she watches the way his body jerks slightly as he’s so clearly fucked. She feels no shame as she tugs down her bra and exposes her breasts completely, groaning as she massages them both.

The heat of Geralt’s gaze makes her bold, and one of her hands slips down towards her panties, before slipping beneath them, moaning as her fingers sink into her wetness.

Ciri needs more though, a hunger burning in her that won’t be sated by her own hands. Standing, she hesitates briefly before she tugs off her small clothes completely and moves closer to Geralt. There’s a part of her that knows she shouldn’t be doing this, that this is all wrong, that there is more at play here than she knows, but as her eyes lock on Geralt’s leaking cock, nothing else matters.

Reaching out, Ciri briefly lets her hands slide over the magnificence of his form, tracing over scars and hard muscles, marveling at his perfection. His body shifts suddenly, moving into more of a reclining position, now lifted completely off the floor, and without hesitation, Ciri swings her leg over him and mounts him like a horse. He groans as she wraps her fingers around his cock and slowly lowers herself onto his cock.

From what Ciri’s been told, it should hurt the first time, but she feels nothing but pressure that quickly turns to pleasure as the bulk of him spreads her open, filling a hungry void in her that she’d never been aware of until this moment. Ciri moans when she bottoms out, clenches down around him, and rocks experimentally, drawing a moan from both of them, so she does it again.

When Ciri’s feet meet something solid that most certainly isn’t the floor, she doesn’t question, just uses it as leverage she begins to ride him, rising up and down, hips shifting as she experiments with what feels good. One hand continues to squeeze her breast as her other rubs her clit. The weight of Geralt’s gaze, the throb and heat of him within her, the rising pleas encourage her to keep going.

It doesn’t matter that Geralt’s been like a father to her, certainly more than Emhyr, that he’s in a relationship with Yennefer, who was the closest thing she’s ever had to a mother, that the sorceress might just kill them both for this. It doesn’t matter that she’s never thought of him like this—no, she can’t lie to herself now. She’s not blind, and she’s heard stories. She’s always wondered, but it was a line she’d never seriously considered crossing until now. Now the only thing that matters is his cock filling her cunt so perfectly.

Ciri moans when Geralt’s hand are suddenly on her, sliding up and down her body as though he can’t decide where to touch first, groping her breasts, squeezing her ass before settling on her hips as he thrusts up into her, seeming to reach deeper. She moans with pleasure as he ruts against her, her half-lidded eyes going wide as she watches the way his stomach bulges, the twists of whatever filling him clearly visible through his stretched skin. It should be horrifyingly wrong, but instead as she traces her fingers over it, it just makes her hotter.

The orgasm when it hits Ciri is unexpected, drawing a startled cry from him, and like an avalanche, it steals her senses and sweeps her away with it as she convulses around Geralt’s cock, milking him as she trembles. Geralt groans then, his hips lifting her up high, and Ciri feels a sudden warmth spreading deep within her, his cock pulsing with her.

It’s not enough though. After so long without, Ciri isn’t happy with just a one off. She needs more. A part of Ciri thinks that that’s wrong, that this is her first time, yet the part that seems to be in control is convinced that she’s done this before, many times, and it’s been far too long since the last time. Ciri rides him for hours, until her muscles burn and her throat goes painfully dry, until pain bleeds into her pleasure, until she wants to stop, but can’t.

When Ciri’s certain she can’t move anymore, the word spins and she finds her cheek pressed against the floor, Geralt holding her hips up as he fucks into her hard, the impact of their bodies echoing around the cavernous room. Ciri cries echo them. It’s perfect. It’s horrible. She wants it to stop. She never wants it to stop.

Geralt fucks her like a man possessed, like a machine, tirelessly, endlessly, and slowly Ciri feels herself drifting away, her consciousness slipping.

When Ciri opens her eyes again, it’s with a sudden clarity and startling pain as Geralt continues to fuck her. Something shrieks, and it takes a moment for Ciri to realize that it’s her. No, not her, something else. It fights her, tries desperately to reel her back under its control, but it’s too late. It’s not smart to teleport without a clear destination in mind, has gotten her in more problems than she cares to admit, but right now, all she wants is _away_.__

_ _Ciri only has a moment to realize she’s falling before she hits the water, inhaling it as she screams, fighting to get to the surface, but Geralt is there on top of her, weighing her down as her muscles scream and barely twitch as she tries to reach the surface. Her lungs burn as she sinks deeper. The world goes dark around the edges, and she tries to breathe in, inhaling water._ _

_ _Strong hands wrap painfully around Ciri’s arms, pulling on her, and when her head suddenly breaks the surface, she coughs and wheezes and coughs some more as she struggles to take in air and expel the water within her lungs at the same time. She clings to Geralt as he pulls her towards the shore, shaking violently. The last thing before her brain finally shuts down, saying enough is enough is Geralt’s concern slitted eyes._ _

_ _Ciri awakes suddenly in a panic and sits up. She immediately regrets it, and groans, curling in on herself as the entirety of her body aches in a way she’s never experienced before. When a water skin appears before her face she grabs it and greedily chugs the blessedly cool liquid, growling in displeasure as it’s pulled away._ _

_ _“Easy, you’ll make yourself sick.”_ _

_ _Ciri’s eyes snap up to Geralt’s who’s crouching next to her, noting the unfamiliar rough-hewn clothes he’s wearing, and a glance down confirms that she’s wearing similar. She goes immediately red then and looks away, saying, “Geralt—”_ _

_ _At the same time Geralt says, “Ciri—” and they both pause, unsure what to say._ _

_ _Geralt takes her hand, and Ciri look down at it, the size of it, so much larger than hers, the scars and callouses that gives testament to his years of service, before she finally gathers her courage and looks at him again. “So ghosts then?”_ _

_ _“Ah, yes, so it would seem. Probably a sorceress. Ciri—” Geralt breaks off abruptly when Ciri cups his cheek._ _

_ _“I—” Ciri swallows, her throat clicking, still feeling painfully dry. “I have to say this. I didn’t hate it at first. It fed on my own desire, gave me exactly what I wanted, but didn’t think I could ever have, and that’s why it possessed me so easily.”_ _

_ _“Ciri—”_ _

_ _Ciri surges forward, pressing her mouth against his. It’s strange and awkward, and she has no idea what she’s doing, and Geralt is still against her for a horribly long moment before he groans and sinks his hand into her hair and kisses her soundly._ _

_ _When they pull apart, they’re both panting softly. The knowledge that she shouldn’t be doing this doesn’t make her want this any less, doesn’t make this any less complicated, but she doesn’t care. And even though the last thing she wants right now is sex, flinching as she shifts, the discomfort between her thighs flaring to life and the rough material of the shirt chaffing against her sore nipples, she can’t stop thinking about it._ _

_ _Maybe they should talk about it, but they don’t as Geralt helps her to her feet, her legs shaking as he walks her towards the hot springs they’re camping by, that she’s brought them to._ _

_ _“May I?” Geralt asks, his hands at the top button of her shift._ _

_ _Ciri goes red but nods as he strips her until she’s standing bare before him. She’s amazed that after what they’d done that this somehow seems more intimate as she returns the favor. She’s speckled with bruises, her nipples are swollen angry red, and she’s certain that her nether region is in a similar state. Geralt’s cock is an unnatural red, clearly also overused._ _

_ _When Ciri sink into the hot water, she hisses in pain. Geralt settles beside her, and with a surprisingly gentle tough he begins to bathe her. When he gets to her scalp, massaging it, she all but melts in pleasure._ _

_ _They still don’t talk about it when they rise from the water, skin pruney, before they dry off beside the fire. They don’t talk about it when the sun sets and Ciri settles against Geralt’s side, and Geralt’s arm comes around her holding her closer._ _


End file.
